Buttoned Up Read Online Free PDF Page B

I was nursing a broken . . .
    What was it, exactly?
    Heart?
    Ego?
    Or was it just my trust radar that was out of whack?
    Even I wasn’t sure, I only knew that wherever I’d been struck by Evangeline’s thunderbolt of an announcement, it still hurt like hell.
    “So . . .” When I didn’t take the paper plate with the bagel on it out of his hands, Stan poked it in my direction again. “After this Forbis character ran out, what did you do?”
    I took the bagel and went over to sit at my desk. “I went after him,” I explained, but not until I took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. It was the first thing I’d eaten since the art show and I was surprised how easily it went down. Whatever had been broken there in the Chicago Community Church, it apparently hadn’t affected my appetite. “Or at least I tried.”
    I thought back to the night before. Once the crowd shook off the shock of seeing Forbis scream and run out, a hum of questions filled the air. I didn’t wait to hear any of them. As quickly as I could, I headed down the main aisle and out the front doors of the church.
    Gabriel Marsh was already out on the steps that overlooked the main drag and the convenience store across the street.
    “Bloody hell! He’s bolted.”
    A Brit. Didn’t it figure? The hunk who was Gabriel Marsh would have made a perfect
Masterpiece
hero.
    “Did you see which way he went?” I asked.
    “Didn’t see him at all.” Just to be sure, Marsh glanced up and down the street, his fists on his hips. “By the time I got out here, he’d already vanished.” Since I was looking up and down the street, too, I didn’t exactly see Marsh look my way, but I knew exactly when he did. That would be when my temperature shot up a degree or two.
    “Do you suppose Mr. Parmenter is simply a temperamental artist?” he asked.
    “I barely know the man.”
    “But you do have an opinion.”
    I dared a look at him. Fortunately, the streetlight in front of the church was out, and Marsh’s face was lost in shadow. I think if I reminded myself how completely delicious he was, I wouldn’t have had the nerve to speak. “My opinion doesn’t matter,” I told him. “Because that’s all it is, an opinion. I think it’s pretty obvious that Forbis was upset.”
    “And you were standing right next to him. What happened?”
    The scene in front of the Congo Savanne box had happened only a few minutes before and either I’d already gotten the facts jumbled, or I hadn’t had a time to process them so that they made any sense.
    I shrugged, and because I really didn’t have any more to offer, I stepped toward the church doors.
    Marsh sidestepped into my path. This close and with the help of the light of the flashing neon sign from across the street that declared the convenience store a purveyor of “Drinks, ATM, and No-Contract Phone Service,” I saw that his eyes were the same gray as the aged stone facade of the church.
    “He’s got a reputation. They say there’s nothing he loves more than drama and publicity,” he said, and I didn’t have to ask who we were talking about. “Do you suppose what happened in there was a bit of performance art designed to make us all speculate and dither?”
    “Like we’re speculating and dithering right now?”
    A smile tugged one corner of his mouth, but he hid it quickly enough beneath a cool so complete, I wished I had my winter coat in spite of the steamy summer temperatures. “I’m British. I never dither.”
    “And I never speculate.”
    “Because you’re afraid I’ll quote you.”
    “Because I don’t have anything to say.”
    “Maybe when you’ve had some time to think about it—”
    “Maybe.” I dodged past him and went back inside the church.
    When I finished telling the story of what happened the night before, Stan laughed. “Oo-wee! I can’t imagine you being so hard on the poor guy, Josie. You’re usually so polite.”
    “Marsh is a journalist.” I finished up the first half of the